Human
by SigmaTheta
Summary: It has always been a struggle to remember that she is a Doll. Only a human could have this capacity for cruelty. Claire/Topher. Post-Vows. Sex, general creepiness, and dub-con for both parties.


It has always been a struggle to remember that she is a Doll, though he should know it better than anyone. It should be obvious, clear as the scars crisscrossing her face. But the way she talks and moves, takes the basic foundations he gave her and turns them into something new and completely unexpected. Topher cannot shake the impression that Dr. Claire Saunders is entirely human.

The more aware she is of the truth of her condition, the clearer this impression becomes. Only a human could have the capacity for the cruelty she is inflicting on him. This time when he pushes her away, she does not budge. Her hands lock around his forearms and pin him to the mattress as surely as her weight across his abdomen does. She will not let him go this time. She needs to cause him more pain. Real pain, that she can see.

Her fingernails gouge and slide against his skin, drawing little pinpricks of blood, but it is not enough. _(Tomorrow the marks will puff up into angry red lines, and people will ask Topher what happened and tell him to go see Dr. Saunders, and when he looks over automatically she will be staring at him through her frosted windows.)_

"You need a treatment," he mumbles, voice raspy and panicked, but it is a weak defense. She has not reacted to that phrase in ages. If anyone knew how truly off her programming she was, they would send her straight to the Attic and start heaping praise on Echo for being such a good girl.

She shakes her head, presses her mouth to his neck and the line of his jaw, bites down on his bottom lip. "I hate you," she whispers into his mouth. It is not the lie that _I love you_ was, but it is not the simple truth, either. Her hands crawl up his body and tangle in his hair, so unkempt as a result of her torment. She runs her fingers through the sweat and grease, repulsive to her, with something akin to pride.

Even with his hands free, all Topher can do is curl them helplessly around the backs of her knees, unable to just keep them idly at his sides. Her hands slip between their bodies, unbutton his jeans and push them away, and suddenly she is sliding over him, hot all around him. Topher's eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. "Oh God," he groans, because it is all so wrong, and he is going to a special hell and maybe she is too.

His hands clench impulsively, long fingers pressing into her legs a bit too hard. She grabs his wrists and slams them back down against the mattress above his head. She is stronger than she looks. He gave her that, never wanting her to be helpless again. It amazes him how she takes every careful design and twists it for her own use. She has not been his creation since the moment she woke up as Dr. Saunders, glaring at him from the chair and scolding him for letting her fall asleep in the imprint room.

She leans forward, pushing her body flush against his. Her breath is right in his ear. "I hate you," she repeats.

Topher swallows hard, flexes his fingers ineffectually. "Because you're human," he rasps.

She shifts her hips roughly in warning. "Don't."

He gasps and tilts his head back. "You are," he insists weakly, eyes closing.

"Shut up," she hisses, grinding down on him. "Shut up!" She begins to move faster, continuing until both of them are panting. She squeezes her eyes shut as she starts to come and turns away from him, screaming into the crook of her own arm rather than burying her face in his shirt or his sheets.

Topher's hips thrust upward instinctively. He lets out a cry like a yelp and sob, and he quickly bites his lip, digging his fingernails into his palms as he silently shudders through the rest of it.

When he stops moving, she crawls off of him and off of the mattress immediately, tugging her nightgown down over her thighs and stumbling away to curl up against the wall.

Topher lies still until his breathing slows to a normal rate. Then he eases himself into a sitting position, pulling the tangled sheet up to his waist. He watches her try to shrink into the wall and whispers, "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and covers her face with her hands and does not look at him for the rest of the night.


End file.
